History in the Making
by Chistina Rae
Summary: The memory that Dumbldore has of visitng Tom in the orphanage, but from Tom's point of view.


Needs a title…

Tom Riddle stared at the whitewashed wall of his room at the orphanage. He was in the middle of a tantrum. Hadn't he _told_ Mrs. Cole that he hadn't killed Billy's rabbit? Sure, it was a lie, but he knew that he had gotten better at lying recently.

But, then again, Mrs. Cole had had it out for Tom since the thing in the cave with Amy and Dennis. The old hag definitely suspected something, but had no proof. Tom congratulated himself on that. It was hard not to leave any trace because sometimes, Tom lost control of his…whatever it was that he could do.

Tom had been staring at the wall for what seemed like hours. He looked over his shoulder. Mrs. Cole was not coming up to check on him.

He sat down on his bed with a squeak. The same bed his mother, Merope Gaunt, had given birth to him a little over a decade ago. Tom had insisted on having this room when he found out. He stared around the place he called home: uncomfortable, noisy bed; tiny, worn wooden wardrobe; small grimy window; one wooden chair. It wasn't much, and Tom had never taken a fancy to it.

He had just started to relax and had picked up a book when there were two heavy knocks on the door.

Mrs. Cole entered with a strange looking man in tow. He had auburn hair and a beard, half-moon glasses, and was wearing a deep purple suit. Tom took in the man's appearance, and then Mrs. Cole's. She was obviously drunk.

"Tom? You've got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton – sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you – well, I'll let him do it." Mrs. Cole stumbled over her words and then teetered unsteadily out of the tiny room. The alcohol, most likely gin, was taking effect. She closed the door after herself, leaving Tom alone in the room with the eccentric-looking man.

"How do you do, Tom?" said the man, who approached Tom and extended his hand in greeting.

Tom hesitated. Everything the world had taught him told him to put this man in pain, now. But another part of him stopped his instincts from taking over. He accepted the man's hand.

The man pulled the solitary chair up to the bedside and took a seat. "I am Professor Dumbledore."

"Professor?" repeated Tom suspiciously. He looked unsure. His voice turned from cautious to accusing. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did _she_ get you in to have a look at me?" Tom pointed at the door that Mrs. Cole had just left through to make sure that this Dumbledore man knew who he was referring to.

Dumbledore smiled. "No, no," he said soothingly.

"I don't believe you," stated Tom in a cocky voice. Then he commanded, "Tell he truth!" As he had intended, the last three words were forceful. At least, they would have been if he had been ordering any of the other children at the orphanage around, as he had done many times. As for the "professor", they had no effect whatsoever. Tom realized that he could not control him with pure force, or not at all. "Who are you?" he asked slightly nervously.

"I have told you," replied Dumbledore smoothly. "My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school – your new school, if you would like to come."

Tom made a quick assumption. It was perfectly justifiable in the eleven-year-old's eyes; it had happened before, a few times.

"You can't kid me!" he yelled, his voice filled with fury surprising for a child. "The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor', yes, of course – well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!" More lies, but he didn't expect the old guy in his room from the loony bin to know that. He would just think the too-tall-for-his-age boy across from him was another crazy person.

"I'm not from the asylum," said the ever-patient Dumbledore. This calmed Tom slightly, but he was still on guard. "I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you-"

"I'd like to see them try," Tom sneered. This was meant to make the flamboyantly dressed man back down a little, but, once again, his threats were not working. Dumbledore just kept on talking.

"Hogwarts is a school, for people with special abilities-"

"I'm not mad!" insisted Tom. The old guy just wasn't getting it.

"I know you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic."

Tom froze, trying to keep any expression off his face. This mad should not work for the asylum – he should be in it. But there was that one sliver of hope that neither one of them was insane…

"Magic?" Tom repeated, whispering. He was trying to see if the so-called professor was lying. For some reason, Tom began to think not. Maybe it was the honest-looking eyes, or the out-of-place suit only someone not from around here would wear.

"That's right," replied Dumbledore.

"It's…it's magic, what I can do?" Tom was trying not to believe it in case it wasn't true after all.

"What is it tat you can do?"

"All sorts," said Tom. He was getting excited despite not wanting to be thought crazy. Then again, could he really look all that insane to a man with a beard and wearing a purple suit? Tom decided to go for it. "I can make things more without touching them. I can make animals do what I wan them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to."

Tom was so excited that he was trembling. He walked unsteadily over to the grey-sheeted bed. He stared at his clasped hands. He realized what this meant if the Professor Dumbledore was telling the truth: he was out of the orphanage. He was not mad, as he had always had a subconscious fear of. He would not have to worry about someone finding out, and finally sending him away, or losing control of his magic, as he now knew to call it.

"I knew I was different," Tom whispered to his trembling hands. He fully believed the man now. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something."

"Well, you were quite right." Tom could feel Dumbledore's gaze on the back of his head. "You are a wizard."

Something inside Tom exploded. It was like a sudden explanation, Christmas, his birthday, and a ticket to freedom all in one. He was happy. He was joyful. He was ecstatic. It was very similar to a feeling he would experience more than fifty years later. Tom looked up, the uncontained happiness inside him apparent on his face. "Are you a wizard too?" he asked. He wanted to see some real magic.

"Yes, I am," replied Dumbledore.

"Prove it," commanded Tom. He decided to see once and for all if, now,the commanding tone that had so much affect on his peers had any affect whatsoever on the man in fron of him.

Dumbledore wore a surprised expression on his face. "If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts-"

This was an extremely silly question in Tom's point of view. "Of course I am!"

"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir'," said Dumbledore in a very calm but strict manner.

Tom tensed for a fleeting moment. He was not used to being told what to do. Not even Mrs. Cole had total control over him. But the moment passed as quickly as it came, and Tomtook on an exeedingly more polite demeanor. "I'm sorry, sir. I meant - please, Professor, could you show me-?"

Dumbledore pulled a long thin rod of wood out of a pocket inside his jacket. Tom gaped, but then quickly shut his mouth. How could he have been so stupid? Of _course_ he would have a wand of some sort. Every wizard in all of the books he had read, which really wasn't many, had a wand. Dumbledore pointed the wand at the shabby wardrobe in the corner.

It burst into flames.

Tom jumped up from his bed. He started screaming and howling. He was shocked and enraged that the crazy man had just set everything that belonged to him on fire, to dissapear into a pile of burt ash! Tom truned around to attack Dumbledore, but, behind him, he heard the flames go out with a very fain _hiss_.

Tom looked from the wardrobe to Dumbledore and back again. He gestured at the wand. "Where can I get one of them?" he asked in an excited whisper.

"All in good time," Dumbledore chided. "I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe."

Tom whipped around. There was a faint rattling noise coming from inside the wardrobe. Tom was sucked in a brath. How could have the old man found out?

"Open the door," encouraged the ever-patient Dumbledore. Tom crossed the tiny room slowly, arrived at the wardrobe, and threw open the door. On the very top shelf, above his well-worn shirts and pants, was a small, old cardboard box. It was shaking as if several small animals inside were trying to get out. "Take it out." Tom obeyed and turned to face Dumbledore with the box in his hands. "Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?" asked Dumbledore in an annoyingly knowing voice.

Tom threw the look of someone who had been caught for a petty crime at Dumbleore. "Yes, I suppose so, sir," he said flatly.

"Open it," said Dumbledore. Tom obeyed.

The objects, when they fell onto the bed, immediatly stopped quivering. They were a dull yo-yo, a silver thimble, and a tarnished harmonica, among other small oddities.

"You will return them to their owners with your apologies," ordered Dimbledore in his usual manner as he slid his wand into the narrow inside pocket where he kept it. "I shall know whether is has been done." He looked at Tom in a calculating way through the bottom of his spectacles. "And be warned: Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts."

To Tom, this meant no fun. Was this man just going to keep raising his hopes, only to bash them down again with another meaningless rule? "Yes, sir," he said, betraying no emotion.

Dumbledore continuedhis lecture on misbehavior."At Hogwarts, we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it You have - inadvertently, I am sure - ben using your powers in a way that is neithertaught nortolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of magic - yes, there is a Ministry,-" he said when he saw the look of shock on Tom's face. The boy had had no idea that the magical world could be so sophisticated! "-Will punish lawbreakers still more severly. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws."

"Yes, sir," said Tom again. This was getting tiresom, in his opinion. As he turned to put his small collection of items beck in his box, he decided to keep his face blank. He did not want Dumbledore to play on his emotions anymore. Then something occurred to him. To put it bluntly, he said, "I haven;t got any money."

"That is easily remedied." Dumbledore pulled a brown leather drawstring pouch from yet another inside pocket. Tom wondered how many there were on the inside of the coat. Dumbledore's voice brought him back from the labrynth of his mind. He handed Tom the bag of money. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to boy some of you spellbooks secondhand, but-"

"Where do you buy spellbooks?" Tom blurted out. He was intentedly examining a thick, gold, irregularly chaped coin. In the bag he also saw, to his facination, bronze and silver coins of smaller sizes and shapes.Everyything to do with this new world, one he was now a part of, facinated him.

"In Diagon Alley," said Dumbledore. Before Tom realized it was two words, he had thought he had said "diagonally". "I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything-"

"You're coming with me?" asked Tom, who looked into the face of the placated old man in front of him. No one had ever shown an interest inescortinghim, or even helping him find something in a store.

"Certainly, if you-" started Dumbledore.

"I don't need you," said Tom defensively. "I'm used to doing things for myself, I go around London on my own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley - sir?" he added, catching himself and Dumbledore's twinkling eye just in time.

Dumbledore explained how; find a place called the Leaky Cauldron, go out back, and ask the barman to tap some bricks in a certain but simple order with his wand, which would open the magical entrance to Diagon Alley. "You will be able to seeit," he said, referring to the Leaky Cauldron, "although Muggles around you - non-magical people, that is - will not. Ask for Tom the barman - easy enough to remember, as he shares your name-"

The name sent a shiver down Tom's spine, causing him to twitch a little. There was something about the name Tom, something other than the fact that it was his own name...

"You dislike the name 'Tom'?" inquired Dumbledore. He had obviously seen the invouluntary twitch.

"There are lots of Toms," muttered Tom neutrally. He had considered his response the safest. But there was one question that he could not help asking Dumbledore, just on the offchance that he knew the answer. He talked quickly before he could stop himself. "Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, the've told me."

Dumbledore paused, as if he didn't know how to answer the simple question. "I'm afraid I don't know," he said ina gentle tone. More neutral anwers.

"My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn;t have died," commented Tom. It was more like thinking out loud than having a conversation. "It must've been him," he decided. "So - when I've got my stuff - when do I come to this Hogwarts?"

"All the details are on the second piece of parchment on your envelope," said Dumbledore, who was clearly glad to be off of the subjust of the orphan's magical parentage. "You will leave King's Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there too."

Tom nodded. And looked up at Dumbledore, who had stood up. The wizened wizard held out his hand. Taking it, Tom remembered something he had always wanted to tell someone. "I can speak to snakes. I found out when we we've been to the country on trips - they find be, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?"

Tom could tell that, once more, he had found an uncomfortable conversation topic with Dumbledore. "It is unusual," he said slowly, "but not unheard of." Tom saws his eyes dart over his face.Then Dumbledore withdrew his hand, and walked toward the door. "Good-bye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts."

And the rest, as they say, is history.


End file.
